


Heartbeats

by SilverSkiesAtMidnight



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Death, Gen, Oneshot, Slight fluff, Team as Family, Zombie AU, mild violence, no one we know though, slight angst, team fic, the guy is already dead and it's not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7359943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t really the silence that gets to Peter, that aches in his chest. It’s the grief behind the silence, the sense of loss. He’d loved this city, and its sounds. He misses the rhythm, the heartbeat, the pounding of feet and hum of voices and cars. There is no heartbeat, not anymore.</p>
<p>It has been 182 days since patient zero was reported in the United States.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is my first fic, and I genuinely have no idea whether it's any good or not. I'm hoping so. I'm posting it, so call this a leap of faith. Comments and criticisms will be embraced with open arms if you have any. Enjoy!

It isn’t really the silence that gets to Peter, that aches in his chest. It’s the grief behind the silence, the sense of loss. He’d loved this city, and its sounds. He misses the rhythm, the heartbeat, the pounding of feet and hum of voices and cars. There is no heartbeat, not anymore. The city feels as dead as the majority of its citizens. But his team is alive, and that is nothing to scoff at. They are busy, still. A tedious sort of busy. No aliens come here anymore. No supervillains try to make chaos, there is enough of that without them. No order to disrupt. The only thing left to fight is the walkers. There aren’t hard to take out. They don’t put up that much of a fight, and the Avengers are trained for much tougher enemies. Their team doesn’t spend much time discussing strategy, doesn’t watch Tony’s simulations, doesn’t plan beyond a day or two in the future. They haven’t been to the tower in a while now. They haven’t had reason to. The city grows emptier as time goes on, as fist and shield and hammer and web tear apart the hordes, as arrow and laser and gun pick away at the dead and wandering strays from above. There are plenty of places for them to camp out in the city. Empty apartments and quiet hotels. Places without so many memories of livelier times. No memories that anyone living still holds, anyway. 

It has been 182 days since patient zero was reported in the United States. 

Peter’s life is not the same as it once was, but he is okay. He doesn’t wear the suit anymore. Spandex may look nice, but it’s damn near useless against a determined set of teeth. He wears Stark gear now, black and tough. Some material Tony had been developing for the SHIELD agents to wear, capable of stopping a bullet. It’s helped keep Peter safe. The street they walk down is empty, but not silent. Perhaps it’s their abilities that make them so cocky, so willing to walk down a street in a city of the living dead while making so much noise. Tony circles above them, thrusters firing, Jarvis likely buzzing in his ear as he watches for any hordes ahead. Natasha and the Captain walk at the front of the group, supposedly talking strategy, debating the pros and cons of leaving the city to search for other survivors. They are laughing too much for this to possibly be the topic of conversation. This may be part of why they’ve been theoretically having this discussion since the initial outbreak, and yet have still made no move to actually leave the city. Clint and Thor are clambering over abandoned cars, holding a loud conversation from opposite sides of the street. Thor’s laugh is good to hear in this place. It rumbles and booms, Clint’s echoing it. Peter walks beside Bruce in companionable silence.  
They are probably the loudest thing in this city, and my, isn’t that a peculiar thought. He’s glad for it, in a way. Not that the city is silent, but that they still speak. The entire outbreak had been a wave of sound. The beginning had been a murmur. News anchors spoke of it briefly at the beginning of shows, summarizing the events of the day. They spoke of the man who launched himself from a darkened subway tunnel, managing to bite one of the waiting passengers before being thrown back over the edge and into the path of the coming train. A blip in the daily barrage of corrupt politicians and terrorist attacks. Then there were more incidents, muggings where people came away nursing bite wounds, animals disappearing from backyards. The murmur grew louder, people mentioning it to friends on the phone, think-pieces written on what could be done to stop the growing violence in the city. Then there was the first hospital attack, suddenly a shout. A hundred people bitten, police bewildered at attackers that didn’t fall when you shot. Things were fast after that, the city a shrieking roar that drowned all else out. The Avengers fought, of course. Bruce and Tony took samples, looked for a cure, as the team struggled to contain the infected and aid the living. They were just “the infected” back then, not the dead, not the walkers. The infection spread outside the city, containment became a moot point. The shriek turned to a moan, civilization as we knew it a dying creature.  
Most of the living fled, though every so often they found little pockets in the old city. Not for a while now, though. It was a solid month ago that the Avengers had escorted a group of five, two married women, a teenage boy and two young children from the city. They gave them a working vehicle, and as much gas and supplies as they could carry and sent them to find somewhere that had been less populated. They didn’t go with them, though. They told each other they were still needed here, still had to protect their city, but their city didn’t cry for them to save it anymore. It was as quiet as it’s dead citizens.  
Which aren’t as silent as the dead should be, if the shuffle from the nearby alley is anything to go by. Peter hears it first, one of the perks of having super hearing and not being in the middle of a conversation. He pauses, Bruce glancing back questioningly before halting as well. 

Tony speaks from above. “We’ve got a walker, alley, 10 o’clock.”

The group is still, watching the dark space, hands tensing on their weapons, Peter’s fingers worrying at his web-shooters. 

There’s another shuffle, the sound of dragging feet and a harsh, rattling breath being taken. 

A figure drags its way into the light. A man, once, roughly 5’6 with dark and curly hair. It’s eyes are pale and faded, it’s figure skeletal and withered. It sees them, picking up pace slightly and staggering forward. It charges them, although its charge is slow and inefficient.

A shield slams into its skull before it can take more than five steps, and it crumples to the ground. 

A beat of silence, then Tasha’s voice.  
“Anymore, Tony?”

“Looks clear, just a stray. Keep your eyes out, though.”

Clint scoffs. “What, were we napping before?”

“If anything bites you, I’m pointing to this moment as your karmic justification.”

“Rude.”

Steve has retrieved his shield, and wipes old and coagulated blood on the dead man’s clothes before flipping the corpse onto its back. Bruce and Peter step forward, straightening him out and arranging his hands one on top of the other on his chest. Steve shuts the clouded eyes. They gave up burying them a long time ago; this city has too many bodies and not enough dirt. 

“You know, they’re definitely getting slower. Remember how full-out 28 Days Later they were those first couple weeks?” Clint shudders at the memory. 

“They were certainly a far deadlier adversary when this began,” Thor rumbles in agreement. “One was nearly able to take down our young Peter, and that is no easy task.”

Peter remembers the incident clearly. It had been the first time he’d properly faced one of them. The street had been a rush of panicked civilians, shrieking and shoving as they’d clambered over cars in their rush to escape the unseen enemy. A woman, blonde and curvy, had come barreling out towards Spider-man as he scanned the street. His spider-sense had tipped him off, he’d turned, initially thinking her a civilian running to him to help. But she was too focused. It wasn’t the terrified bolt of a frightened human, but the charge of a predator. She was across the street and on him before he’d even finished turning to face her. She’d been fast, that one, and caught him off guard. Her hands had found his arm, raised instinctually to block her. Hands clenched inhumanly strong, fingers bunched in the fabric of his outfit. Peter had staggered back, firing his web at a nearby building and literally ripping himself out of her grasp. She’d kept a chunk of fabric from his suit, gripped in determined hands, her bloodshot eyes watching with empty rage as her prey escaped. He’d born hand-shaped bruises on his arm for days before his healing factor could fade them.  
The creature before him had definitely been less fearsome.

Bruce bends down to study the body. “They’re deteriorating. Look at the condition of this one, it looks like a body that’s been dead for weeks.” He prods it lightly in the side a couple times. “Ribs are prominent.”

“I can’t imagine they’ve had an abundance of fresh meat since the initial outbreak. Everything living either fled or died.” Natasha says, joining Bruce by the corpse. 

“Starvation and rot. That’ll definitely slow you down,” Peter comments, looking down at the wasted face.

Bruce stands with a slight groan, his back popping audibly. “Yes, I suppose it would.” He chuckles. “Nature doing what a team of superheroes can’t.” 

They turn, one by one, starting off down the street once more. Thor and Clint lead now, the thunder god’s footsteps heavy on the pavement as Clint hops across the hoods and tops of abandoned cars with the same attitude as a child, meandering along a path of stepping stones. The others bunch loosely behind, Natasha on the outskirts and Steve a few steps ahead. Tony swoops low above them. 

“So,” Peter wonders aloud, “does this mean we just kinda have to wait for them to wear out? That’s it, game over, everyone goes home?” He kicks an old soda can lightly, lets it rattle down the street ahead of him.

“The game won’t be over.” Natasha says simply. “We’ll just be at a different level.”

“So what happens on this next level?” 

Steve glances back at him. “We’re just going to have to cross that bridge when we get to it.” 

Bruce smiles slightly. “We’ll figure it out. Hopefully it’ll be a little less exciting, this much tension has been less than ideal for my heartrate.”

Tony glides down to a foot or two above their heads. “I don’t know, Brucie, I think giant green rage monsters are right at home in the middle of the apocalypse.” He dodges the small stream of webbing Peter aims for his faceplate. He suspects Tony’s pouting as he rises to a safer height.  
“Such betrayal! And after I shared such truth with your fluffy little head.”  
Peter pats his eternally mussed hair, an offended expression on his face. “I’ll have you know I’m cute and fluffy, thank you very much!”  
“Alright Stitch!” Clint calls back, hopping a solid eight foot gap between cars fairly effortlessly. The show off. 

Peter laughs, a genuine, happy laugh. It blends smoothly with Bruce’s quieter chuckle, Steve’s rather satisfied “I understood that reference,” and Natasha’s dry, “We’re very proud Steve.” Tony’s thrusters hum, background noise to the steady beat of Thor’s steps. They have their own rhythm, his team. The city is nearly silent, but their heartbeat is still strong. Perhaps one day this city will bustle once more, will beat with life. Peter certainly hopes so. For now, though, he can barely hear the silence past the noise of his team. It is enough, and that is all he needs.


End file.
